


Inlet

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 09:31:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11399823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Glorfindel brings Erestor rest.





	Inlet

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “vacation” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/158937866370/fic-bingo).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“And now?” Glorfindel asks, though very little has changed since the last time. Erestor’s desk is filled with new papers, but he’s filling them out the same as he was an hour ago, and an hour before that. His back screams at him when he straightens out to see Glorfindel, which proves, as always, a terrible idea—Glorfindel’s dazzling smile is a constant temptation that Erestor doesn’t need. He merely shakes his head, then dips his quill back in the pot, and Glorfindel wilts like a flower needing rain.

Or, perhaps more accurately, a flower who’s master refuses to water it. But if Glorfindel wanted someone kinder, he shouldn’t have come to an elf already wedded to their work.

Erestor returns to his forms, and Glorfindel presses, “You are in desperate need of a vacation, my love.”

“One which I, nor Imladris, can afford,” Erestor counters just as easily, as he did when Glorfindel first brought it up, so long ago that Erestor can no longer remember the date. It comes up time and again, but Erestor’s response is always the same. This morning Glorfindel only asked for a day off, a little time away, and Erestor told him _later_.

It’s much later, the sun nearly set, and Erestor still has more work than ten elves could do. Because Glorfindel is still standing in the doorway of his office, Erestor continues, “You know I cannot get away. Lord Elrond has his councilors for a reason, and I have earned a high seat indeed, due solely to my work ethic. Any significant time away would be detrimental to both my position and the smooth running of his household.”

“Then what are you even training Lindir for?” Glorfindel sighs, only to shake his head and try, “No significant time, then. Simply take a break with me. It is soon dinnertime anyway, and it would be just as easy to have your meal delivered elsewhere as to here.”

“Elsewhere?” Erestor quips, eyes ever on his work. “And where would you take me? To the Woodland Realm, perhaps, as you have often hinted you would like? Or perhaps you will spirit me away to western shores, as is your favourite suggestion, as though I have time to simply lie beneath Arien’s rays and listen to the tide come in?”

“There, across the sea, back again, into the East and clear to other waters—I do not _care_ , so long as you put your quill down for a moment and _relax_.”

Erestor shakes his head. It isn’t so much dismissal as exasperation, exhaustion, and with tremendous force of effort, Erestor does retire his quill. He looks at Glorfindel, still golden in the dusk, beautiful as always, and a part of him does ache to enjoy that more. He spends every night with Glorfindel, gives Glorfindel every second that he can, but he knows that isn’t what Glorfindel asks for now. Glorfindel wants the time he gives to _work_ , for his own sake more than _theirs_.

Looking into Glorfindel’s clear eyes, it’s only love for him that finally makes Erestor nod. He murmurs, “Very well... but only for one hour, and we will not leave these walls.”

Glorfindel’s grin grows broad and white, enough to make Erestor’s heart hitch and his breath quicken. Glorfindel comes to offer Erestor a hand before Erestor can change his mind, and Erestor takes it, letting himself be pulled from his desk.

With his palm encased in Glorfindel’s long fingers, Erestor is dragged unceremoniously from his office, pulled swiftly across the outside corridor and down a flight of stairs. Glorfindel seems to have a purpose now, and Erestor doesn’t interrupt, though he’s curious. He follows his lover until they’ve reached one of the rooms designated for Glorfindel’s use in training, and then Glorfindel pauses to kiss Erestor’s cheek before he opens the door.

The room inside is lit with candles in long holders and tall windows, more than enough to light the floor. That floor is the first thing Erestor looks at, because his first step sinks down into—the floor is covered in _sand_.

Erestor gapes, eyeing the entire perimeter, but it’s laid everywhere, thick enough to spill through the door when it’s open, and Glorfindel quickly ushers them in to force it closed. Then Erestor sees the walls, painted newly white and blue, the top like sky and the bottom like sea, an endless horizon that makes their room a little island in the center. As Erestor looks this way and that, he feels Glorfindel’s arm slip around his waist, and Glorfindel murmurs, “I have spent too long trying to get you to the beach, my darling, so I thought, perhaps, I might have better luck bringing the beach to you.”

Erestor turns to look at Glorfindel and doesn’t know whether to laugh or swoon. It’s _ridiculous_ , silly and childish, though the paint was laid with great skill and this much sand couldn’t have been easy to collect or carry. But it isn’t really the look of it that matters, but the _thought_ behind it and the effort. Erestor finds himself touched beyond words, and he has to force himself to tease, merely to keep himself from melting into Glorfindel’s embrace, “And who do you expect to clean this up?”

“Me, if you wish it,” Glorfindel provides, not at all fazed by Erestor’s defensive mechanism, “but I had hoped to keep it, to spirit you away when you should let me. You oversee so much that I think you could use a little island, populated only by you and me.”

Erestor could. His heart is aching. He turns himself away from Glorfindel, needing to collect himself. Glorfindel only walks past him, gathering a bundled towel from the corner of the room, and returns to lay it down across the sand. 

Then he reclines back against it, a hand reaching up for Erestor’s. He cheekily adds, “I would suggest you don swimwear for it, but I do not wish to press my luck.”

Erestor finds himself smiling. He descends on Glorfindel with a warmth only this one soldier’s ever given him, and he proceeds to get sand in awful places.


End file.
